Alien Lockdown

Alien Lockdown

By

Vijaya Schartz

ISBN: 978-1-926965-05-5

Copyright 2010 Vijaya Schartz

Cover Art Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

Chapter One

Zurin Five Penitentiary, Andromeda Galaxy, 3033 C.E.

Underground Level Six - The Garrison

For the love of God, answer if you can hear me! Rhonda’s growing alarm made her voice tremble. She felt cold sweat dripping down her spine.

In the cobalt glow of the circular control room, the monitors displayed empty offices. Where had the civilian employees gone? Why did no one answer the morning call? Had Rhonda made a mistake? She dreaded getting in trouble on her first solo watch.

Swallowing a clump in her throat, prison guard Rhonda Alendresis punched an emergency broadcast key on the central console. Garrison calling all office personnel. Anyone up there at all? Seconds ticked by and a chill crossed her spine. Still no response.

Something seemed very wrong near the surface, but the main computer didn’t detect any emergency. On the high-vaulted ceiling, the Artificial Intelligence that ran the facility hummed softly. Its concentric blue circles pulsed in a normal pattern. Rhonda addressed the A.I. Skipper? What’s wrong in the upper levels?

All is as it should be, Miss Alendresis. The cheery disembodied voice filled the room, coming from all directions. Nothing to report.

It didn’t make sense. If the A.I. didn’t detect any emergency, maybe she shouldn’t worry so much. New in the prison business, Rhonda wondered whether her fellow guards had concocted a sick joke to scare her. If they did, Rhonda would make them pay in the most devious way. She could be creative, too.

The bank of monitors displaying the deeper levels of the prison facility showed the inmates in their cells, some still asleep, others washing and eating breakfast as usual. All looked normal and secure down below.

But in the offices just above, nothing moved. Feverishly, Rhonda double-checked the cameras of all the civilian areas. Even the cafeteria and the gym looked devoid of life while they should effervesce with early morning activity.

Even if it was a prank, Rhonda couldn’t take any chances. She hated to disturb the Captain, mainly to call for help. Reluctantly, she opened a channel to Captain Riggeur’s personal quarters.

The Captain’s face and smooth torso filled the screen. He shaved while watching a family hologram. Rhonda wondered about the toddler playing with a ship in the holoplay. She didn’t know anything about Captain Riggeur’s family, never thought he had one. In the background, she could hear a symphonic orchestra above the soft hum of his shaver. The Captain had good taste in music.

Riggeur stopped the holoplay and the picture of the child vanished. Quiet, he ordered, and the music stopped. He turned off his shaver. What is it, Rhonda? His cerulean blue eyes transfixed her through the camera as if he could see right through her. How did he do that?

Trying not to feel foolish under his intense gaze, Rhonda composed herself. Sorry to disturb you this early, Captain, but we may have an emergency!

May have? Make up your mind, Rhonda. Do we, or don’t we? He quickly combed back short blond hair.

Irritated by his patronizing attitude, Rhonda refrained a comment that might get her fired. Instead, she said, The A.I. has nothing to report, but...

So, what could possibly be the emergency? The light marble background of the bathroom and the soft lighting emphasized the Captain’s perfect tan.

Rhonda took a deep, calming breath. I can’t establish contact with the Duran offices on the upper levels for the morning call. No one answers the comsystem and the offices are empty.

Empty? The Captain’s square jaw tightened. You must be mistaken. There has to be someone there. It’s not like they could have gone out for a stroll. He opened a bottle, squeezed aftershave in his hands and slapped it on his cheeks.

I checked all the security cameras. Rhonda pushed back a dark, curly strand of hair, painfully aware that uniform regulations prohibited loose hair, as well as scarves like the red one around her neck. As an artist, she found the gray uniform drab and liked a touch of color near her face. She knew the Captain enforced the rules, but she’d not expected to see him on this shift. It’s as if no one got out of bed this morning.

Could it be some weird holiday? Captain Cole Riggeur squinted in the mirror. Maybe they are attending a religious ritual in the chapel?

No, Captain. I checked that, too.

Can’t you locate any of them?

Frustrated by his lack of trust, Rhonda blurted, Civilians don’t wear locator chips, Captain.

Don’t be a smart-ass, Rhonda. His deep blue eyes narrowed. I meant did you broadcast in all the common areas?

Yes, Captain, I did. No response.

When he walked away from the camera toward the towel rack, Rhonda realized with a start that he was stark naked. From the back he looked like a statue from ancient Greece she’d seen in a museum on Banoi. Tall, athletic, the Captain had tightly curved muscles under a smooth, flawless skin.

Taken aback, Rhonda couldn’t control the flush heating her neck and rising to her cheeks. She’d never thought of Captain Cole Riggeur sexually, never pictured him naked, but this incident would make it difficult to erase the heavenly vision from her memory, a prime subject to keep in mind for one of her future paintings.

Although she felt silly for invading the man’s privacy, Rhonda knew the Garrison, unlike the civilian areas, had cameras everywhere. Any blind room could potentially hide an escapee. She’d better get used to it.

When he faced her again, Captain Riggeur wore a white towel around his waist. Wake up the whole crew, send two teams to the surface to investigate and continue security sweeps. I’ll be right there.

Yes, Captain. Had he seen her blush? She couldn’t wait to end the call.

And, Rhonda?

Captain?

Lose the scarf and tie back that curly mane of yours.

Rhonda bit back a sharp retort. The man might be gorgeous, smart, and a genius in his field, but he enforced discipline on the job like a ruthless bully.

*****

Cole Riggeur turned off the comscreen on Rhonda’s blistering glare then chuckled. She’d blushed. His body never failed to impress women but he’d not expected that reaction from a medic. He’d enjoyed Rhonda’s embarrassment. For the first time, she’d actually shut up for a few seconds and didn’t try to get the last word.

What could have happened to the office workers in the upper levels near the surface? Cole doubted they could still be asleep in their private quarters. How many times had he requested to have all civilian areas monitored? But Duran had largely ignored his recommendations.

Dropping the towel, Cole slipped on a white undershirt and shorts. Could everyone up there be sick in their beds? Poisoned by the food? Victims of an airborne virus? Could they all be dead? Good thing each level had an independent air-purification system. If they had died, whatever caused their death would remain isolated.

He reached for the gray uniform neatly folded on a shelf. The material, a mix of stretch microfiber and kevlar, served as body armor against blades and bullets while remaining light and comfortable to wear. Too bad, it didn’t protect from phaser fire.

As Cole slipped into the one-piece body suit, his thoughts returned to Rhonda. She was smart and beautiful in a tall graceful way. The kind of woman he might get involved with if she weren’t under his command. But Cole had strict personal rules about relationships on the job. He’d seen too many good leaders brought down by sexual harassment suits.

Besides, she talked too much. And on the job, she couldn’t control her emotions and overreacted too often. Quick to anger, she panicked easily as well. Not a good quality for a guard.

The Garrison was no place for sensitive females. Cole would never have allowed her among his crew if not for her medical training. The Garrison had needed a medical officer for the third shift, and she had come in first on all the tests.

As he pulled on his gray boots, Cole shook his head, remembering how Rhonda had already questioned his orders several times in her short time here, and acted with total disregard for the rules. She behaved like a civilian while most guards working for Duran’s contract prison had a military or mercenary background.

After checking the uniform in the full-length mirror, Cole buckled the belt and strapped on the holster with his regulation phaser. He’d come to the conclusion that he couldn’t trust Rhonda. Her carefree attitude on the job and her lack of real life combat experience made her a potential liability in a dangerous situation. He snapped his com-pad on the belt.

From a hook on the wall, Cole lifted the yataghan, the deadly short blade he’d learned to wield on Upsilon Three. He tucked the slightly curved weapon inside one boot as a backup and a regulation dagger in the other, an old habit that had saved his life more than once.

His external communication implant, at the base of the neck above the right collarbone, itched. A light scratching rewarded him with static then he stepped out of his quarters into the hallway and blinked. It felt as if he’d walked outside from a beach house on a summer day.

The bright light emanated from the holographic sun baking a white sand beach with swaying palm trees that decorated the blind wall facing his quarters. Every half hour, the hallway hologram switched to a different scenic view of faraway Earth.

As he hurried along the holobeach, the gentle surf washed the holosand at his feet. They’d reproduced even the sound of the waves and the cries of the seagulls. Cole smiled at the futile attempt to break the depressing monotony of living underground. These restful pictures didn’t appeal to him. Born in the Andromeda Galaxy, like most of the Garrison personnel, Cole had never seen the blue skies of Earth, the cradle of human civilization. His ancestors from Earth had settled on Upsilon Three over six centuries ago.

Damn! Cole remembered he’d sent four guards to the corporate offices. What if there was a virus up there? He called on his external implant. Control Room? Any trace of biohazard in the upper levels?

Thrower’s voice came through his implanted chip. No, Captain. Already checked.

Cole felt relieved at the news, and at the fact that at least one competent guard had already reached the control room to replace Rhonda. Cole trusted Thrower. He’d worked with him for years and never found him lacking in professionalism or loyalty.

Any luck contacting the surface? Cole knew the corporate employees couldn’t have left without informing the Garrison. Besides, someone always remained in the offices to oversee the mining operations, even between shifts.

No, Captain.

Keep trying. In his twelve years at the prison, six of which as Captain in command, Cole had never seen the corporate offices empty. The more he thought about this puzzle, the more sinister it appeared.

Cole emerged into the vast control room, more like a high-vaulted hall three stories high, with catwalks to access the fifth generation artificial intelligence hanging from the ceiling. The many concentric rings of the A.I. pulsed with blue light in a peaceful pattern, a far cry from a classic emergency. What the hell was going on?

The four guards present greeted Cole with tense faces. Raylor and Isle had joined Thrower and Rhonda, who remained out of the way on the periphery. The red scarf she’d removed from her neck now tied her hair into a ponytail. Still not regulation!

Cole suppressed a rebuke in front of the other guards. If indeed he had a true emergency on his hands, he needed everyone in good spirits. He nodded to the guards and glanced up at the bank of monitors displaying various parts of the giant facility. Nothing looked amiss, except for the three screens showing the offices just above, between the Garrison and the frozen surface of Zurin Five.

Good morning, Captain Riggeur. The A.I.’s synthetic voice sounded chirpy as usual.

Morning, Skipper, Cole answered automatically.

The machine, almost one of the crew, decided what to show the guards and when, evaluated the emergencies, and reported to the pertinent personnel. The A.I. regulated the life-support systems, and clothed and fed the hundred thousand prisoners detained at the facility at any given time. A sophisticated network of conduits allowed fully automated maintenance. Except for transfers and security emergencies, the prison required no human intervention. Skipper also supplied the civilian restaurants and the Garrison’s kitchen with high quality preserved ingredients.

The four guards in the room constituted half the Garrison crew. More than enough people to handle the job under normal circumstances, but if anything out of the ordinary ever happened, Cole knew the Garrison to be sorely understaffed. Only nine guards, including himself, oversaw the equivalent of a whole underground city.

Cole stepped up to the wrap-around console where Thrower and Raylor sat. What did the systematic sweep turn up?

Nothing, Captain. Thrower had an intense look about him, as if ready to pounce, each time his military training kicked in. No trace of any office employee or mining worker, not even in the engine room. Should we send a call for reinforcement off-world?

Relax, Thrower. Cole forced a smile and kept his tone optimistic. No need to get the guards scared. Let’s find out what we are dealing with. Maybe it’s nothing serious. How far are our guys up there?

Thrower seemed somewhat relieved by his Captain’s presence. They’re still on Level Four. Found no one there. They’ve not reached the offices yet.

Not surprising. For security reasons, stairs and elevators only linked two levels at a time. With each level entirely sealed off from the next, traveling up or down the many levels took time.

Isle, a cute woman guard with fierce cat eyes, outranked everyone except Cole, stepped up to the console. Could they have been attacked from above by some disgruntled customers? No matter how you cut it, Styx is still an illegal drug in many sectors of this Galaxy. Duran has powerful enemies.

It’s unlikely that they were attacked. Concerned about keeping his team together, Cole tried to exude a confidence he didn’t feel. He smelled a rotten bearcat and feared the worst, although he had no idea what that could be. We’d know if there had been a skirmish. There would be signs.

Thrower gave Isle a sidelong glance. The last ships to attack Zurin Five didn’t do so well. With the kind of weapons Duran has on the surface, even a whole fleet wouldn’t stand a chance to land on this rock.

Skipper, Cole addressed the A.I.’s main screen. Did you activate any defense weapons in the past twelve hours?

Negative, Captain Riggeur, the cheerful synthetic voice answered.

So we weren’t attacked. Cole felt a headache coming. What do you think happened to the corporate employees, Skipper?

I do not think, Captain, I compute.

Cole refrained from cursing the A.I. and rephrased his question. What do you know about the whereabouts of the civilian personnel?

They all left at 0300 hours. The smug finality in the A.I.’s electronic voice surprised even Cole. The smart machine never displayed emotions other than perky, supposedly a feature to boost the crew’s morale.

They left in the middle of the night? Stunned, Cole could only ask, Where did they go?

Home.

Are you sure? Cole regretted the question. The A.I. never spoke unless certain.

Check my scanners, the A.I.’s happy tone didn’t fit the situation. The main hangar is empty and the transport is missing, as well as all the private vessels.

Cole noticed the sudden seriousness on his guards’ faces. Although none of them commented, they knew this highly irregular detail could only mean serious trouble.

Fearing the answer, Cole asked, Why didn’t you tell us that before, Skipper?

I was instructed not to, until four hours had passed, and only when specifically asked, the A.I. answered.

A wave of dread engulfed Cole. And who in hell gave that order? Someone had compromised the A.I. and left his guards marooned on the planet. Why?

The corporate manager, Skipper uttered, interrupting Cole’s thoughts. But he is not in hell, as far as I know.

If the transport had left, Cole and his crew remained trapped on Zurin Five until the next transport arrived, and it wasn’t scheduled for twenty days. Why did they leave?

I do not have that information, came the A.I.’s response.

Cole wanted to grill the A.I. for more answers, but if someone had tampered with Skipper, Cole had to regard any information from Skipper as suspicious.

Raylor, a recent addition to the Garrison, a multi-talented man Cole hadn’t learned to trust just yet, reclined in his chair and drummed his fingers on the console. Maybe the civilians got scared about the recent tremors. It seems we’ve had a few more than usual lately.

Ridiculous. Cole shrugged. This facility stood steadfast for five hundred years and has never suffered from the quakes, no matter how violent. Duran built it to withstand any kind of seismic activity.

Rhonda, who had remained silent since the senior guards had taken over, stepped forward. I know for a fact that Duran would never abandon their precious mining operations. The Styx crystals are too valuable. It’s the lifeblood of the corporation.

Her comment made sense and Cole had a bad feeling. Skipper, who is supervising the mining operations?

The machines have stopped the extraction, Captain Riggeur.

The A.I.’s upbeat tone annoyed Cole, who wondered with growing anxiety what prompted the corporate employees to leave their post and flee without notice. What did they fear? What did they know that he didn’t?

Thrower slammed a fist on the console. Bet you they took the last load of Styx crystals with them.

Affirmative, Jonathan Thrower, the A.I. chirped. But I do not take bets. Gambling is against the rules.

Cole understood Thrower’s concern. He suspected the man took Styx to dull the pain of old combat injuries. But a more alarming thought crossed Cole’s mind. Did the prisoners get their daily dose this morning?

Negative, Captain Riggeur, the A.I. chimed in. My Styx vault is empty.

Good God! Rhonda exclaimed as she stepped behind Cole.

Understanding her concern, Cole turned to face her. How long before they get agitated? He didn’t want to think of the consequences.

Glancing at the standard clock above the console, Rhonda counted on her fingers. They’ll show the first signs of withdrawal before noon. Within two days, they’ll all be as psychotic as the worst Monacks, then many will get sick, some will start dying.

A loud rumble shook the control room. Cole felt the floor move under him and grabbed onto the nearest console to remain standing. The lights flickered and red warnings flashed on several monitors. When the tremor ceased, the blue glow of the control room had dimmed. A number of monitors had shut down and a strident emergency siren accompanied the rhythm of more flashing lights.

I have lost the feed from Level Nineteen, said Skipper’s mechanical voice among the tumult of emergency warnings.

Assailed by the shrill sounds, Cole couldn’t think. Turn off the damn sirens, Skipper, will you?

Yes, Captain Riggeur. The raucous quieted. Only the red and blue lights flashed on the A.I.’s panels.

Rhonda’s classic face had turned pale, Isle, the other female guard, calmly gazed at Cole, waiting for orders. Raylor had stopped drumming his fingers but remained aloof, watching everyone.

Thrower still stared at his console. We have a transformer short in the engine room. That’s probably what screwed up the feed.

We’ve got to fix it before we lose sight of the whole facility. Cole knew this kind of problem could escalate if not dealt with swiftly.

Captain? There is worse. Thrower’s voice rose in pitch. The temperature levels are rising in the nuclear reactor.

Dread chilled Cole’s body. The cooling system failed?

Must be a leak in the coolant. Thrower studied his screen.

But Cole knew the system to be failsafe. Aren’t the cadmium bars supposed to drop automatically to stop the reaction in case of leak?

Thrower shook his head. "Looks like they